Human Tales
by Mabel-Zen
Summary: G1, a collection of short stories. Humans are useful to Autobots, in good ways, in bad ways, in many ways. Here are just some of them. Latest Chapter: 13
1. Chapter 1: The Walking Spanner

**Human Tales**

**Disclaimer: **The human and Transformer characters belong to Hasbro. Some human own-characters may find their way in here and they belong to me.

**Summary: **G1 Optimus Prime said, with his first meeting with Spike and Sparkplug, "Hmm… you could be of some use to us" – or something along that vein.

Face it, humans are useful to Transformers, and in this collection of stories (probably 10 stories, and maybe more) I will try my best to think of how _we _are useful to Transformers.

Most of us would agree that the humans in Transformers are a little more than a pest, I agree, and beg to differ.

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**Tale No. 1: The Handy-Dandy Walking Spanner**

Ratchet hated life right now.

It was life, the dastardly abomination of life that had pushed him into the battlefield, not as a medic but as a warrior, much like the dastardly twins, Ironhide, Trailbreaker, all those who have gone under his hands and scalpel.

He would have thought of this once in a while, but this was the first time it had occurred to him: to be downed within the first few minutes of battle.

Chiding him for not watching his own back (It was Bluestreak's job, not his!) the wounded medic had hauled himself behind some large boulders the desert had to offer as cover. Right now he had a most livid wound on his shoulder cuff and another on his thigh. His trademark red cross on that shoulder was blasted to bits and both wounds were leaking fluids that should not be seen.

He cringed as a blast of laser fire ricocheted off his rocky cover.

He would have loved to fix his wounded self right now, but due to a case of hi-grade and a skirmish last night, he had no laser scalpel or other mentionable tool he could use to fix himself.

If life could not get any worse, but knowing the situation right now (the Seekers were firing at the Autobots' skidplates, last he recalled) it always would.

And it did.

"Ratchet!"

The white Autobot spun his head at the voice, expecting to see someone he recognised as silver, black, and who was going to get his audio receptors rattled off for not protecting the resident CMO.

When he saw that no one was standing before him, or kneeling next to him beside the rocks, he thought he was hallucinating.

A sharp clang from below and the surge of pain through his leg wound told him he was not.

He shoved his leg in a visceral reaction.

"Ratchet!"

The voice came from _below._

His optics glanced down and saw the miniature form of Sparkplug, minus the weight he had on the sides, peering into the thigh wound, roughly the size of the human's head. A spanner was in hand, and an open toolbox was a few steps away from the human.

"Spike! Get out of here!"

"Nuh-uh," the boy reached into the wound, spanner and all, and Ratchet felt a servo pop somewhere in his leg.

"Get the slag out of here-" another round of laser fire exploded behind the rock near Ratchet's head, causing him to crouch. Skywarp had seen his chevron sticking out of the rocks like a sore index.

"Not until you're fixed, Ratchet! You're badly hurt!"

Something hissed in his leg. Thanks to the boy's back covering his work, Ratchet could not see what he was doing, or even guide the human child.

In fact, he did not feel comfortable about a human boy fixing him up. He always insisted that patients get the best treatment possible, and that was through him. He could trust himself to fix his own wounds, but Spike had just grasped his skills from his father while he was Iacon's best, and he merely started this week!

"Ratchet! There are others injured out there! Sunstreaker's out cold, Prowl's nowhere to be seen, Optimus has a big hole in his arm and Bumblebee's badly hit! We need you out there now, but you need help."

He started. The others were severely hurt, if Spike spoke the truth. Of course he did. He never doubted the boy: he had been true to his words from the start and had wormed his way into everyone's sparks 'cause of that, and became part of the Autobot family.

Now the family was scattered around the desert, some grievously hurt, and this human boy had miraculously found his way to the medic's side and-

"I did what I can with your leg, Ratchet. Let me see your shoulder-"

Oh slag, he had said the same words to Sideswipe when a past battle saw the red Autobot doing his jet-fighting martial arts and nearly scrapped his leg and shoulder. Spike had been there, watching intently as the medic worked on the warrior in the medical bay, even if he said he was writing an essay.

"Forget the shoulder, lemme see the leg," he gruffly replied, and moved his injured right limb to see.

The gaping hole was still there, but to his surprise there were some weld marks noticeable, along the tortuous 'transmission' lines and circuit relays, one close to the hydraulics but not touching the vital part. The piston had – of all things – a wing-nut fitted snugly into a hole, where he suspected all the fluids had been spewing out from. Coagulated energon and lubricants still covered the parts and connections, something he would have left alone himself to protect the rest of the circuitry as a 'shield'.

He could not hide a small smile, despite a final gunshot that was aimed at the boulder – and missed.

"Not bad, kid."

"Thanks," the human replied sheepishly, "Dad taught me a bit, with Sideswipe opening himself up after most repairs so we'd learn and see how you do it."

That was spark-warming, the medic had to admit. He paused, a little stunned, but recovered quickly enough. His sour mood was replaced with a lighter one.

"Well, I'll have to bolt that red devil up. Can't have you ruining my work, eh?"

Spike, having clambered up the boxy 'bot with relative ease, looked up from his inspection of the shoulder cuff with something of a frown.

"I was joking, lad. That shoulder isn't too bad-"

"Sunstreaker had a gaping hole, last I saw. You'll need a welder with this arm."

"The main connections and nerve relays are still intact, Spike. It's fine, but where can I get a welder?"

The human boy pulled something out of his pocket – a handheld welder which was the birth child of Wheeljack – and was about to pass it to Ratchet when he noticed the size difference.

He stowed it away.

"Wheeljack brought a spare, I think. He's behind that boulder, with Gears-"

At the indication, Ratchet was up on his ankles, a hand propping himself up. Gunfire was far behind him – the Seekers were picking on a soon-to-be patient, he bet – and the set of rocks Spike pointed to was no more than a stone's throw away. It gave away the blue glow of his friend's head-fins, and he bet he could hear the sour whining of the Minibot from where he was.

"Stay on my shoulder, and don't get off till I tell ya."

"Huh? Why?"

Ratchet looked at Spike. He's still a kid, much like Bluestreak, even if he had some better traits from his father (especially not yammering at a hundred words a minute).

"I'll need a second pair of hands, that's all."

**A/N: **Murder me. Murder me now. That boy always had a knack of getting into trouble. We all don't like him 'coz he's always in the way!

This is some new light for me on him, and I realised why people don't try:

It's downright CORNY!

_(Edit: Revisited and edited.)_


	2. Chapter 2: The Entertainer

**Disclaimer: **The human and Transformer characters belong to Hasbro. Some human own-characters may find their way in here and they belong to me.

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**Tale No. 2: The Entertainer**

Jazz looked up at the foot steps that entered the security room. No one should be passing by, not in the state of activity the Autobots have been put into.

It was a human girl, surprisingly, and one he could not recognise. In fact, it was a real rare occasion that a human female was in the Ark. He didn't grab all the details of her, just noticed her from the corners of his optics.

Then again, Spike had a school assignment, 'group work' he called it. Something about researching macroeconomics, or was that macromedia?

Or was it just media?

He didn't know – something that the saboteur cringed at. He was listening to some tunes on the FM receiver when Spike asked him if he could assist.

It was a bad time for the boy to ask Jazz, or any other 'bot, for assistance. Everyone was busy two days ago, in a spate of action due to Decepticon activity.

Even his father was too busy, helping Wheeljack and Ratchet and even Optimus last night to clear out some facts, and help the poor Autobot leader to get his senses and thinking back into line.

Poor kid. The boy was literally alone for the entire week.

Though Jazz did not give her his full attention, he could tell that this girl was about Spike's age too, given the youthfulness of her face with the almond shaped eyes, and the short black hair that covered the top, slightly front, and majority of the back and sides of her head. She was dressed in a red top and black shorts with black sneakers to boot. She looked like Sideswipe's twin, other than Sunstreaker.

Spike gave everyone the heads-up of a 'school mate' coming over to get a project done, during the afternoon when Cliffjumper, Bumblebee, Brawn, Prowl, Ratchet, Sideswipe and him were in the Ark's recreation room. Unfortunately, he was not really paying attention, because his cranial unit had just about blown some fuses. The boy was talking to the wall, and a lot of metal too.

"Friend… girl… my age… let her in… help her if necessary… Asian… can be a little shy… be nice… foreign diplomat's daughter… loved the chance to meet you guys."

And that's about it, and Jazz was finally meeting this mystery girl.

He was about to turn to her and welcome her when she turned tail and left, or more likely fled.

And that was that.

Many minutes later, still bored out of his wits, Jazz lazily twirled a Transformer-sized pen in his hands like a band baton.

It was then a sound from the blue decided to do something one could rarely do to Jazz: startle the saboteur.

It was no ordinary sound.

It was the timbre of a piano that caught the bot's audios. It sounded live, from somewhere in the Ark.

Never before had he seen a human play the instrument, or even _knew _of one.

This was his chance to see one of the raw forms of music at work.

He was not going to let it slip by him.

He turned the computer to 'Auto' mode and sprinted down the hallway, his chair spinning wildly in his wake. The computer could handle things in his absence. He shouldn't be away for too long.

Like a predatory cat, Jazz prowled the hallway. He was following the source of music, which had lured him most seductively: a contemporary piece, most likely one of the ambience genres which set a sullen atmosphere and floated down the hallway, whispering past his audios like a lost and weary ghost singing to the orange corridors.

With much inquisitiveness, he used his skills and expertise to pry aside the doors of the many Ark units he passed as wide as a fingertip, listened to determine the source of the sound, and shutting it ever so carefully before continuing on.

The music kept wafting into his audio sensors and the cravings got worse.

Finally, he found it a room past the last inhabited quarters, a room far from any inhabited area of the Ark save the residential units. He pried the door and peeked in.

There was the girl, at, remarkably, the first keyboard Jazz ever saw being used, and it was connected to something that had Wheeljack's trademark dents, bangs and scuff marks all over it. When the source of the music was coming from the large black objects, he decided that they were amplifiers.

Seated near her was Spike, staring mundanely at the ceiling, but it would have been appropriate to say that he saw white, for a piece of paper covered his face. His head thrown back, the white paper looked like a ridiculous rectangular mask, his arms crossed and under his head, and his legs crossed on the office chair.

Jazz shifted the door wider and slunk in.

Immediately, the piano notes poured into his audios at full tilt and he revelled in it.

And it was when he entered and closed the door behind him that the girl finished her piece, the last note dying away till the sustain pedal was released.

Dang, he was late!

The girl turned to Spike, fully unaware of the newcomer, and the voice that followed was pointed.

"Spike! I hope you aren't napping there, for I'm not going to play for shadows!"

"Huh?"

A blatantly bored stare was revealed as Spike removed his 'mask', and the glare was directed at the girl. It was reciprocated accurately.

"You told me that this was your idea to 'get inspiration', and all it did was waste our time," the girl continued.

"Mabel, if you have any better idea for this than I-"

Spike's eyes grew.

"Jazz!"

The red and black girl spun around, and promptly froze.

Jazz had no intention to scare the girl. He saw her and knew that she could recognise him as the big black and white one with the visor she saw in the room - and ran away from.

All he could do was to smile at the two children.

"Hey, Spike! And who's the 'lil miss who dropped by my stop?"

Spike looked to the girl, who replied with a tiny smile of her own, but a tiny one. Maybe an ashamed one.

"Oh, c'mon! You were more talkative than Bluestreak yesterday in school, and now you're mute!"

Spike turned to Jazz, "Her name's Mabel, the one I told you about yesterday."

The Asian could only blush.

"Hi."

"Mabel," Spike began, "this was the Autobot I was referring to, the one with the B-W paint and big feet. How could you miss him?"

"He was busy, Spike. I daren't disturb him."

Disturb him? Now it made sense why the girl had not stepped into the room and left in such a hurry.

On the note of disturbing, was he intruding into anything?

"Y'know, are ya two busy in the middle of somethin'? 'Coz if you are…"

He took a step back to the door.

"No, Jazz! We need your help! We got this school project, and we just found out that it's about music-"

Music!

"Music? Now that's up my avenue," Jazz seated himself down on the floor.

"Thanks Jazz," Mabel finally spoke, a confident tone seeping in and probably after gathering herself, "we need to come up with a topic to discuss about music. No idea how we're going to present it, nor what to do about."

"We _have_ an idea. You're playing the keyboard and –"

"But I _messed it up_! I can't play! It even made you sleep!"

"I beg ta differ," Jazz intercepted, "You played like a dream! 'Fer the first time I saw and heard anyone play live, it was great!"

"I know many who play better than I," Mabel still shrugged, "but that's not a point. I won't perform for the class -"

"Don't," Jazz all but interrupted the remark, "I think you can do it. If the Jazz-man says you can, you can."

"But how?"

"Practice."

The human girl groaned, "Not in front of you! I sound-"

"Terrible? Nah! Gimme a number, right here and right now. I'll help you. Spike, you can do a comparison between contemporary music and classical music. I'll lend you my archives."

"Really?" The ignored human boy sat up in his turned chair, his eyes sparkling.

Human kids were cute.

"Ready? A one and a two…"

A new atmosphere filled the air as Mabel hit the ebony and ivory, the welcoming sounds of a calming and serene melody that satisfied the Autobot, who sat back to listen.

**A/N: Our favourite musician, as much as I could guess, has not met a real live musician before, or let alone a piano player in the flesh. A human can satisfy this little unknown craving.**

**OC in here: Mabel, as I have described her. I plan to keep using her as a partner with Spike. Where Spike is irritating and a nose for trouble, I hope to make her a more tolerant human.**

**And this is worthy for Snarl to stomp on. So there.**

_(EDIT: Revisited and edited.)_


	3. Chapter 3: The Washer

**Disclaimer: **The human and Transformer characters belong to Hasbro. Some human own-characters may find their way in here and they belong to me.

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**Tale No. 3: Car Washers**

Sideswipe tried to avoid the stares he got as he trudged down the hallway.

The Autobot grapevine, otherwise known as Bluestreak, passed down the message: The red troublemaker found trouble in the form of Bruticus on his daily patrol and he had led the large gestalt on a wild goose chase through the parks and fields of Portland to lose him.

And it had rained the last few days with torrential downpours.

Primus, was he in a state.

"Aren't you in a state!"

The red mech looked up – and saw no one.

He looked down.

There was Mabel, Spike's classmate. Dressed in her crimson cotton T-shirt and black shorts and black sneakers to match, she looked uncannily like himself when he was clean.

She hung around the Ark more often now, ever since she warmed up to Jazz after tinkling the piano. Everyone had taken to the human like how they had taken to the other Earth residents they had befriended.

This one, however, was a girl. They were warned that she could be bossy.

And she was.

Her arms akimbo, she looked Sideswipe up and down.

"This won't do."

He looked himself down. He was terribly soiled, mud caking his hood, headlights, sides and… basically his entire self. Some moss hung from his helmet and more grass found itself wedged in the wheels, dripping off with the mud as a trail behind him. He was more tan and brown than red.

But who was he to care? Sideswipe was tired, no, extremely weary, ready to go offline at any minute, and all this human could do was to comment on his cleanliness?

She wasn't the only one who did that, anyway.

"Sunny… thought so…" The words came out in pants.

"And what did he do?"

"Chased... chased me off," Was the dejected rejoinder.

The human shook her head, more so to herself than at the Lamborghini.

"Transform."

Sideswipe merely blinked.

"Transform, Sideswipe. Go car mode."

Transforming meant that energy would be spent. Sideswipe was about to break into a million pieces of scrap and extinguish his spark, and this human wants him to transform?

Mabel took the delay of reaction as a hint that he still did not get it. Her tone changed to a kinder one.

"I'll help you. Down on all fours, please."

He toppled down before her and transformed into his car mode, the caked mud now in full shape to show how it had splattered to his sides and front. His windscreen was still wet, and as it trickled down his front he could not help but shiver.

"Put your gears to neutral."

He obeyed.

The human positioned herself at the rear of the car, hands on the slimed metal and she pushed.

Sideswipe caught the drift and moved his own wheels, his tired engine humming in protest. Mabel's pushing did assist, but no way could the girl do the heaving by herself. Gotta credit her for the effort, though.

"Thanks, Mabel."

"Keep quiet. I don't want anyone to see what we're doing."

The Autobot paused in his mental tracks.

"Why?"

"I don't exactly do free jobs, and I don't think I want any of you guys seeing what I'm about to do," she smirked.

The human pushed the car into the wash rack and stationed him near the drain that lined the three sides of the room, the wheels squelching to a halt upon the tiled floor.

Through his headlights, Sideswipe spied a couple of large buckets that lay themselves under one shower head, and soap suds at the base of some. Nearby was a human wheeling table with what seemed to be a chamois cloth, a sponge, a wiper and…

"Sunstreaker's wax?"

"That's partly the reason why this is hush-hush. Now keep quiet and stay still."

He did not snap back.

His brother owed for not helping him, anyway. Slag him for barring him entry into their quarters when he returned.

With a bit of effort, Mabel dragged one of the brimming buckets of soap water to the figure and doused the hood and sides of the car with a ladle. A second bucket was brought up, and the trunk and wheels were given attention.

Immediately the mud and vegetation slid off his body and down towards the drain. Mabel paused to remove her shoes, placing it with the empty buckets that she put away from the bathing car, and returned to work.

Now Mabel took the sponge and dipped it into the bucket of soap water, and started to scrub the car's body down, starting from the sides. On her knees, she wiped the doors in circles, clearing away the residue dirt that failed to come off.

Sideswipe noticed something as he watched, and felt, the human at work. Sunstreaker had been to many car shops to get his car wash and finish done, and he had some complaints before. Pretty Boy moaned of how some car washers were 'rough at the hand', 'chipped some paint away', 'lousy buffers' and added in some colourful language here and there.

Mabel showed no sign of that. She was giving the car her full attention, as he felt the sponge go through the door handles to clear the dirt that irritated him, and her hand was firm, yet gentle. The sponge never tickled, but glided smoothly over the metal and the sleek form of his alt mode.

A memory of Ratchet came into mind, but he could not put the human girl and the resident medic together.

She came round from the right to the hood, and leaned forward over his headlights to get at some dirt that failed to dislodge, eyes narrowed with concentration to hit that spot.

Nope, not like Ratchet.

The dirt dislodged, but not without touching a ticklish spot.

The human girl felt the engine in the car rev, and she rapped the hood.

"Keep it down! Any noise and I won't mind stuffing this sponge up your exhaust pipe."

All right, she's a bit like Ratchet.

Content, she carried on, past the hood and to the left, and quickly advanced to the bumper.

Sideswipe relaxed, and he could feel a tingle as Mabel ran her fingertip along the frame of his car.

"Looking better already," she murmured to him as she changed the sponge for the wiper.

Quickly and deftly, the wiper ran over his body as light as a feather. Sideswipe was stunned, and now and then a giggle shook the frame of the car as the wiper tickled him at particular spots, opting not to rev his engine like before.

"Shh!"

"I can't! It tickles!"

"My dad's car never laughed."

The girl took pause.

"Then again, my dad's car never did," and a light laugh came from her.

A snigger rose from Sideswipe, and Mabel patted his hood.

"Glad to hear that. I'm almost done now. I'm rushing this bit."

The chamois cloth whipped around him lightly, reminding him of the whistling winds he recalled when he sped down the highway, right before Long Haul spotted him and the rest, well, was not worth the mentioning.

Sideswipe then felt a cool liquid being smeared generously onto his hood, and the chamois cloth went down to a rigorous rub that massaged whatever liquid that was all around his hood.

His headlights caught sight of his brother's wax in Mabel's hand.

Oh, his bro was going to pay for not helping him, and he was going to relish in this retribution.

"Sunny knows his wax. This is a good one. I should get some more for my dad's car," the girl commented as she now waxed his roof, and the sponge found a funny spot.

The engine revved slightly.

"Sideswipe," Mabel admonished, and the engine died down.

"Thanks for this, Mabel. I really didn't expect you to-"

The headlights turned to where Mabel was at, for he had turned his vision offline to relax, and noticed her soaked clothes and noticeably the -

"I saw you getting the cold treatment from everyone, especially your bro," she looked up to Sideswipe's headlights, "Are you staring at me?"

He politely turned his gaze away, "Nope."

"Don't mention this to anyone, all right? When the holidays kick in, I hope to spend a little more time here doing odd jobs or something, most likely with a fee or community hours for school. Car washing came into mind, and I'm still sorting out how I'll present this idea to Prowl and Optimus Prime."

With a final wipe at the wheels, Mabel stood back to look at the car, and a low whistle escaped her.

Sunstreaker sat at his corner of the recreation room, nursing his evening meal when the door to the room opened and he sputtered.

In sparkling and shining glory was his twin brother, clean from top to toe. Rainwater and mud gone, and replaced with a glorious shine that rivalled his own. The bright red colour of the warrior's armour stood out from its original dullness, and seemed to bring light to the room. His headlights sparkled, and the Autobot logo stood out proudly on his chest.

He was not the only one dazzled.

Ratchet growled, "Surely you didn't scrap yourself and changed yer entire body, eh?"

Bumblebee spoke up, "Aww, Ratchet! Don't be mean! You look like a million bucks!"

Hound snickered, "Thought you had been mud-wrestling with Bruticus. How did you clean yourself to this state, Sides?"

Sideswipe eyed his brother, and grinned most charmingly as he did a pose.

"Oh, just a wash-up and some assistance."

If only he had seen a spot far behind him, he would have seen Mabel in a yellow top and black shorts and shoes, looking up at the red Lamborghini with a knowing smile.

**A/N: We're in the carwash, people! We scrub, we rub, we dub-a-dub-dub!**

**There's improvement, I feel. I dunno about you guys. A review if you agree or disagree.**

_(EDIT: Revisited and edited.)_


	4. Chapter 4: The Entertainer 2

**Disclaimer: **The human and Transformer characters belong to Hasbro. Some human own-characters may find their way in here and they belong to me.

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**Tale No. 4: Entertainers, #2**

"Slaggit!"

Prowl gave the boy a stare, chevron tilted.

Spike looked up at the mech.

"Ratchet has an effect," the boy shrugged, the annoyed look he noticed a good while ago still plastered on his face.

The black and white Autobot smiled. He could afford to smile.

He was winning the game by miles.

Optimus Prime had done the unimaginable; he ordered Prowl to take the afternoon off as soon as he handed in the duty reports.

Prowl did not like his days off.

When he had a day off, he would have wanted to work. When he could not work, he'd go around looking for work. When no work was to be found, he'd bug, or more likely _silently probe_ the others to give him something to fiddle with.

Or, it could be worse.

He could ask the others to play _chess_ with him.

Ever since the Autobot found the Earth game of tactics, he was as gleeful as Bumblebee on a sunny day (even if he did not show it). It was obvious on the days he was with a mending injury in Med Bay. Ratchet was initially relieved that the Autobot had a quiet toy to play with. The injured mech would play both black and white sides and it would occupy him for hours on end until shut down time. No harassment, whatsoever, and Ratchet called it a human blessing.

Until Prowl asked Ratchet to play with him one day.

The medic hared out of the recovery bay before the game ended. He tanked himself that night and was off-duty for six days after that.

After that, Prowl turned to the leader Optimus Prime for chess company, and Optimus Prime found himself wallowing in reports more often that he would, begging Prowl to let him do his work in peace.

So, when Prowl came walking into the recreation room, chess-board tucked under his arm, the mechs in the room 'avoided' him.

"Bluestreak, may I invite you to-"

"Sorry Prowl, I have a gun to clean and Prime to meet and a sparring match with Sideswipe and for some odd reason or so, I'm looking forward to that match. Sides' going to wait for me sooner or later so I have to go, uh, sorry, but, see ya!"

The junior quickly took his leave.

The tactician frowned. Unperturbed, he turned to Sunstreaker.

The sun-coloured mech gave him a frigid stare and stalked off.

At that point in time, Bumblebee and newcomer Spike came into the recreation room. It was Spike's first excursion to the room of the 'privileged', with Bumblebee as his escort.

Bumblebee performed his signature 'Flight of the Bumblebee' move and skedaddled out of the room at the sight of Prowl and the chess board.

That left Spike all alone, and vulnerable.

Prowl's battle computer worked out the odds. The human boy probably knew something about the game, and he could be a new chess buddy after some coaching. Besides, he did not run away, and he knew little of Prowl's reputation.

He, despite his stoic nature, gave a smile.

"Hello Spike. Want to join me in a game of chess?"

That led to where they were now, in Prowl's quarters and Spike looking at chess pieces the height of himself. Prowl offered to play with a human-sized chessboard, but Spike insisted on Prowl using his own. He also added in that 'being with the pieces may give him some advantage'.

The aforementioned human was scratching his head now.

Spike was stuck. Prowl had moved the queen in his turn. He did not know much of the game, but Dad said that the queen was the most powerful piece. If it moved, it moved for some reason.

Was Prowl going for a kill?

Oh sure, Dad knew something of chess, a little something from high school. He wished he could recall some of those things right now, but he was like his dad- both of them tuned off after hearing about pawns.

He had a rook and a knight left, standing near the middle row of the board, over on Prowl's territory. The rook was on the left side, having eaten its fill and was left standing where it was.

The knight was nearby, and next to the rook on the same row.

Prowl, on the other hand, had moved his queen to the right corner of his territory. The knights were on the next two rows, and a rook was lined in for the kill at the king.

Spike shifted his king out of the line of fire.

Prowl moved the queen once more.

"Check."

Spike shifted the king to another tile.

Prowl moved the rook to the right.

"Check."

Prowl smiled, but truthfully he was blanching. He took his performance down many pegs, far more since Ratchet's instigation into the world of chess and the boy was faltering worse than a sparkling.

The human made some very bad moves, moves he would never want to pull on live soldiers. He sacrificed a bishop for a knight. That was equal to sacrificing himself so Sideswipe would live to see another battle. That was a little scary.

Spike was a smart boy, smarter than what his Maths and Science grades would accredit, as supplied by his father. Father and son worked side by side in the medical bay and were welcomed greatly by all, more so by Prime, Wheeljack and Primus-bless-Ratchet.

Well, like poor Ratchet, Spike seemed to be having a breakdown in front of him.

The human boy had his eyes staring forlornly at the chessboard at his feet and the pieces around him.

Prowl spoke, "Want to call it a game here?"

Determination sank into the boy, and he shook his head.

"I think I got something."

"Really?" Prowl mused.

The optics looked down onto the board – and paused.

Spike had noticed it too.

With a heave, Spike moved his knight in for the kill.

The boy looked up at Prowl, leaning against Prowl's king, "Checkmate."

* * *

**A/N: Why do humans have this kind of luck? Don't ask me.**

**You can do what you want with this story. Stab it, praise it, whatever.**


	5. Chapter 5: Walking Squishies of Terror

**Disclaimer: **The humans and Transformer characters belong to Hasbro. Some human own-characters may find their way in here and they belong to me.

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**Tale No. 5: Walking Squishies of Terror**

"Where are we going, anyway?"

That came from Gears, sour as ever.

In fact, everyone was sour. Decepticon activity was at an all-time low, after Optimus Prime and the others had won victory after victory and gave Megatron a good stab in the back that would promise peace for a while.

However, that meant a period of cabin fever for the Ark residents. Boredom never settled well with the mechs.

Not well at all.

Every single member of the Ark had pulled a prank on one another, and were victims of pranks. Well, Sparkplug and Spike did not contribute a trick but still met the business end of matters, no thanks to a group of Mini-bots who decided that stuffing the human quarters with water would give their messy room a good 'wash-out'.

Both went to Optimus Prime after that.

And here they were now, driving on the roads in the city, headed to an 'X' on their internal mapping systems in single file with Optimus leading the way.

"Sparkplug and Spike decided that we would need some time out, and not on patrol. They have arranged a field trip for us to one of their friend's warehouses to see something."

"Really? I thought they're miffed by Cliff's work," Sideswipe mumbled, and nearly got sideswiped by the mentioned Mini-bot.

"They weren't," Optimus replied.

When everyone reached the site, they transformed into robot mode and stooped into a large warehouse with open doors, not before receiving a warning from their leader to 'be on their best behaviour'.

A man in Sparkplug's attire, though a lot less plump, stood next to a large machine in the warehouse. The metallic feature shone and gleamed in the fluorescent light. Another man stood next to him, plump and clad in suede.

"Good afternoon, mister McCraft," Optimus greeted, bowed and hand open.

"Ahh, no need to come with the niceties. We're all on the same side," the man in suede, Mr McCraft, clasped a fingertip in both hands. "I'm so glad you all could be here today," he smiled smugly.

"So are we," Optimus gestured to the group behind him, "but we came here not knowing what to expect."

"Ahh, ol' Sparkplug must have played you all into here," McCraft chuckled, "typical."

"Played us in?" Prowl queried.

McCraft just chuckled harder.

"I think what they'll see is enough. Crank it up, Jon!"

The man with the hardhat saluted and pressed a few buttons at the machine's control panel.

Immediately it sputtered to life, the sound of gears grinding and a sudden stench of grease filling the air.

A large conveyor belt started to run, and on it was a sorry-looking rusty old piece of metal on four wheels that had definitely seen better days as some high-class saloon.

All eyes were on the run-down car.

The conveyor belt led right into the machine. The car was slowly delivered into it by a large 'door', and all the Autobots had only a tiny glimpse of the car and an eerie red glow from the inside of the machine before it slammed shut.

Sounds rang immediately from it.

Primus-awful sounds.

Metal clashed against metal, the sound of blades whirring to life, at an incredible speed, cutting in literally, the whine of a generator somewhere and – most terribly- the sound of crunching metal and breaking steel.

Every Autobot winced as they heard a swipe of a blade from somewhere and the whirr of a saw jarring into steel. Optimus tried his best not to flinch, but he twitched slightly. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were noticeably appalled and the poor Mini-bots edged into each other. Prowl and Jazz both stared in horror, mouth gaping. The rest, well, fared worse.

After a gruelling fight to hold down their energon, the Autobots were relieved when the last whine died down – to only have the most gruesome thing shoved at their optics: a collection of metal shavings, no, a LOT of metal shavings, coming out at the other end of the machine on the same conveyor belt that sent in the wrecked car.

That sent some unmentionable mechs running on full tilt for the exit, hands clasped over their mouths.

McCraft had a sly grin plastered on his face, his eyes on the residue on the conveyor. Jon, however, had a smug smile on his face.

"That was a nice ol' Ford there, pity the cowboy riders got busy," he shrugged.

McCraft nodded to his employee,"Mmhmm, that would've been a nice antique to sell off, but then – where was I?

"Oh yes. A word of warning from Sparkplug: Anybody who does anything funny against them, gets the treatment."

He pointed at the metal shavings. Optimus and the remaining few could only nod weakly.

* * *

**A/N: My friend and I cooked up the idea after a reminder of that particular scene from 'Monsters. Inc', but I replaced the cube with metal shavings. Oh, it's so fun to scare 'em.**

**But, this one still feels funny... expect editing. Oh, and I thank PuraJazzBot greatly for helping me as a critic and editor, and editing all the chapters.**


	6. Chapter 6: Human Hamsterball

**A/N: **I'll post this up, and look back at it on a later date. Can't put my finger on what's wrong with this one. Can anyone help? (No offence to readers who feel offended about the issue of overweight-ness.)

**

* * *

**

**Tale No. 6: The Hamster-Ball Operator**

When Skyfire found Sparkplug after his aerial patrol, he was surprised to see the human perched on the Autobot-sized console of Teletraan-One looking at a catalogue. A health catalogue.

Sparkplug hardly read magazines, let alone a health catalogue. But here he was, burrowed into the paper article.

He looked quite vexed.

"Excuse me, Sparkplug?"

The human looked up to the gargantuan friend.

"Need something, Skyfire?"

"I'm wondering why you look so hassled."

"Ever since we started lodging with you guys, we've been ordering takeout and fast food a lot more than usual. I'm worried about his health. I think he's growing fat," the father groaned.

The large Autobot sat himself next to the console, hunched over like a large sumo wrestler to see what Sparkplug was looking at. The catalogue sported images of fitness machines that came from advertisements Jazz often detested when they watched the television. There were also bottles and images of organic capsules and tablets.

"Fat?" The jet had to query.

"We humans are what we eat, so as the saying goes. If we eat things that build up this… goo… called fat in us, it will collect, just like grease, and stick in us. It's not very healthy to have a lot of it."

A build-up of grease in the metal? Skyfire understood perfectly.

"Spike just gained three pounds in a week. I think I'll need to keep the boy trim so he can run faster on the field, ya know, look after him without getting a bullet hole by being slow," Sparkplug reasoned, "the boy wants to be there and I let him be there - just don't want him to be easy prey."

Skyfire thought twice and was ready to make a comeback about inertia when Sparkplug added, "Can you help me out? I don't like doping my son on weight-loss drugs or sticking him to a treadmill or an aerobic bike. It'll bore him. You're the scientist, Skyfire, so help me think about Spike's exercise regime, will ya?"

"I'd be glad to help. You say that running will help him lose the excess…" he shuddered, "Grease?"

"Fats, but yes. That helps."

"Then... I think I have an idea…"

* * *

When Spike came back from school, he looked at the human fridge in the recreation room, as he always did when it was lunchtime. Bag dumped by the side of the entrance, he opened the little appliance's door and peeked in. 

A chocolate-sprinkled donut caught his eye, his favourite treat. He would have to thank Dad later for saving it for him.

He greedily reached out for it when something grabbed him from behind.

"No can-do, Spike," Bumblebee smiled, "Your father says no more sweet treats for lunch, and you need some exercise."

Exercise? What did his friend mean? He did Physical Education at school, and what of his trips around the Ark? That was a lot of exercise done.

And there was nothing wrong with a donut, just a donut, for lunch.

"You're not eating lunch just yet, not till you've done your run."

Run?

"Run?"

Now, Skyfire walked in, with a rather large object in his hands.

"Yes, Spike. Your afternoon run is necessary, so your father says."

"But I have home-"

"I promise to be your tutor once you've done your run and had a healthy lunch of vegetarian takeout your dad got for you," the large aerial mech approached Bumblebee and Spike.

Now Spike had a better view at that object Skyfire had. It looked like a… human-sized hamster-ball.

Before he knew it, Bumblebee had placed Spike into the hamster-ball and Skyfire sealed it shut.

"Hey!"

Skyfire inspected the ball and its passenger, "The air-holes look fine, and work fine; and I think traction shouldn't be a problem. Put on that safety harness and clip it to the safety frame, Spike. We don't want you getting hurt."

True enough, there was a purple safety harness for a boy-sized chest next to him and he was standing on a durable plastic frame that stayed put even as he shoved it. The clips on the harness were in different colours, and corresponding coloured clips were on the plastic frame.

He slipped on the harness and attached himself to the safety frame. No use complaining now, since not only was it Dad's word but probably the entire Ark knew of this. How Dad agreed to this, he would find out later - if he survived the ordeal.

"Have a good time," Skyfire pleasantly said as he took a step out of the rec room, the human hamster-ball in hand.

"Autobots" he hailed his internal communicator, "open all doors, and let the Dinobots loose."

DINOBOTS?!

Skyfire placed a fretful Spike in his new mode of transportation onto the floor, just as the rumble of Dinobot feet came around the bend.

"You better run, Spike," Bumblebee quipped, peeking from the door entrance.

Now Spike knew why Bumblebee had horns, but he did not say a thing.

He turned and ran. The hamster-ball peeled down the corridor, just as a group of eager Dinobots dashed past the rec room entrance, Sparkplug perched on Grimlock's head and hollering above the din to watch out for his boy.

* * *

_EDIT: (Revisited and edited. Still needs editing, though.)_


	7. Chapter 7: The Fellow Whiner

**Disclaimer and A/N#1:** The two Autobots here are Hasbro's. The human character's mine. Somehow, the lack of practice and RL constraints made me lose my writing juice... Chew on this one while I go read something.

* * *

As Huffer made his way through the corridor of the residential units of the Ark, he was feeling as sour as ever – the yellow mech of doom was on the loose, especially with his brother out on patrol and leaving the sunflower to entertain himself on his own.

It often spelt trouble for the Minibots, so all agreed to scramble to different parts of the Ark.

When Huffer said that one of them would still get trashed and it was a complete waste of their effort, they jettisoned him to the most probable place to bump into Sunstreaker, which was where he was now.

He was creeping as well as he can, but what good would that do? Sunstreaker would find him and pummel all his innards out of him, he was sure! If he did not get caught, which was highly improbable, someone was going to stick a finger in his face and accuse him of sending the yellow blossom right his way.

He just knew it. He never questioned the way things happened for the worse, and how it _always _did. It was so common that even the humans made it a _law_: Murphy's Law.

He could love humans for their intelligence. He used that phrase frequently, till Jazz bestowed the nickname 'Murphy' on him, and he did not mind it a bit.

As he neared a door to his right, he paused.

There was sound coming from behind the door.

It certainly did not sound like the Dandelion of Death.

Then what was it?

Curiosity piqued, Huffer snuck into the room.

Huddled in the opposite corner of the room was Mabel the human girl, seemingly distraught by the way she hugged her knees and red eyes stared from the mess of her hair. The sound that his auditory sensors picked up was coming from her.

And from what he knew, he could tell that she was crying.

Now, as Spike brought his friend around the Ark, she was first introduced to the Mini-bots, excluding Jazz's impromptu introduction.

Huffer did not take a liking to Mabel so quickly. In fact, he remembered that he and Gears hung at the back whereas Cliffjumper and Brawn went forward to greet, under Bumblebee's incessant cajoling that the Minibots should befriend the human girl as they did with the human boy.

But, Huffer had never seen her in such a state before. In fact, it was only now he felt the uneasiness of the situation sit in.

It was now that the human child noticed the Minibot's entrance and her gaze fixed itself on him. The sounds stopped.

"Go away."

Huffer complied, and backed out of the room – in time to hear footsteps coming down the corridor.

He stepped into the room and shut the door in a jiffy.

Mabel saw this.

"Get out."

"Nu-uh. Sunstreaker's out there."

The human gave a leer as he sat himself down at the other corner along the small room's wall and ignored him promptly.

She did not make any more sound after that, which suited Huffer well. His audios were tuned to listen out for the menacing footfalls to reach the room.

But, what was the worth of hiding? Sunstreaker would _still_ find him, he was sure of it. He's going to be beaten to a ball bearing and stay the medical bay for the entire quartex, he was certain.

A sound of tearing startled him of his little while of thought. Ah, frag, that sound would ascertain his doom.

He turned his head to see Mabel shred another piece of paper, the sound of ripping palpably loud. It was now he noticed that the floor had paper balls scattered on it, with one piece near his foot.

He picked it up and curled it open, to reveal black spots along a grid, with long lines drawn out from the neat little ovals on the spaces and lines of the grid.

It did not take long for Huffer to identify it as part of a musical score. Jazz purchased a few of those in an attempt to take up earth music, but never really got down to it.

It also did not take long for him to realize that she must have ripped at least a few of these musical scores to make such a mess.

"What are you doing?" He didn't whisper.

"Mind your own business."

"I'm minding it. What's with the paper?"

There was a sigh from Mabel, and she answered his question.

"They're my music exam scores."

Music exam?

"Music exam?"

Another sigh, this time a riled one and Mabel burst her bubble.

"Just now. I went for my exam, and I completely _ruined_ it! I messed up everything! The pieces, the sight-reading, the tests… every slaggin' thing!"

With a cry of fury, she ripped one more score and quartered it. Curling one into a ball, she flung it across the floor.

The sounds of sobbing returned and she curled up tighter.

Huffer mentally shoved the Cybertronian cuse aside and continued to listen.

"I knew I was going to mess it up. I just knew it! I practiced so hard, but I knew I was going to fail! It was just a waste of effort! Mum will kill me! Dad will disown me! I'm sure of it! I failed them, I failed myself, I failed Jazz… oh, I let everyone down…"

Huffer watched and finally understood.

"I didn't dare go home after the exam. I came here to hide. I don't want to go home. I don't want to face my parents. I know Jazz would be on patrol now so I hid here so no one would find me. I don't want to face him either… but, I knew someone was bound to find me. By Murphy's Law, someone would come by.

And you did."

The red-eyed human let out a strangled sob before hugging her knees tighter, burying her face into her arms.

Huffer watched on and he felt guilty in his spark.

He finally understood.

The past week had seen the girl coming to the Ark from her weekly visit to daily visits, and sounds were flowing from wherever Jazz was. Prowl mentioned casually over to Ratchet one evening that Jazz was doing his all for the human girl to do something, but he did not catch the gist as he was distracted by Gears.

His optics did not leave the little form that huddled into the shadows of the corner.

And he felt guilty. He felt guilty watching her pour her tears in front of him and relating her woes to him.

In fact, he could almost see her as himself, moping and groaning about his faults and failures.

That tugged his spark. That had made him feel guilty.

It was something strange, for someone who was only concerned of his feelings of loss and despair

If he had to play mediator to make himself, and the human, feel better, he might as well do so, and Primus slag whoever who sees him.

He made his way towards her and sat down beside her.

"Sucks to be us, eh?"

Mabel nodded in reply, though it merely seemed like the mess of her hair moved in her arms.

The door of the room suddenly opened, revealing the head fins and scowl of Sunstreaker peering into the room.

Huffer looked up.

Trust Murphy's Law for such perfect timing.

"Do you mind?"

The warrior noted the situation quickly and backed out of the room.

With the disturbance gone, Minibot and human sat side by side in companionable silence.

**A/N: I suck at angst and character development. I've got to work on those.**


	8. Chapter 8: A Little Source of Amusement

Optimus Prime was walking down the corridor on a decided break from looking through the Autobot logs when he heard it.

A faint, sharp and accented sound was coming from the recreation room.

The last time he heard about sounds coming from a room, it was in Huffer's report where he logged that he found a distraught human friend and spent the entire afternoon calming her down by sitting with her – and totally forgetting about his afternoon guard duty.

Well, this seemed like a similar scenario. Lately, the two human children that had invaded the Ark have found companionable company with each other, even if Spike had interest in another human female called Carly. The black-haired friend had even promised him she would help him woo her if he needed the help.

But that was something else. Right now, the sounds were of priority.

As he turned for the door, the door opened on its own – to find Bumblebee looking up at him.

Trust Bumblebee and his espionage skills.

"Good afternoon, Prime!"

"Good afternoon, Bumblebee," he returned the greeting, "May I come in?"

"Err… I'm sorry, Prime, but you can't."

The sound – a high-pitched squeak – came from the room behind the little Autobot.

"I came to investigate the sounds-"

"What sounds?"

Two squeaks resounded from the room.

A memory of a condition Ironhide once had went through Optimus's mind.

"Bumblebee, is anyone having trouble with his systems lately?"

"No Prime, I'm fine and so is everyone else."

Another squeak.

"Then what was that sound?"

Suddenly, in between the two Autobots, the squeak came from below and startled them from their conversation.

"Heh, that's the sound," Bumblebee gestured to the little figure near his foot.

Spike looked up at Prime, his face utterly miserable and managed a wan smile at the Autobot leader.

A spasm rippled through his frame, and his mouth opened to release the squeak that he had heard moments ago.

"Spike has the hiccups."

Another hiccup went through Spike, and it did sound like a really bad joint squeak that plagued some 'bots Optimus knew a long time ago.

"Hi Pri-"

Another hiccup shook Spike before he could finish his words.

"How did you get these hiccups, Spike?"

As Spike clasped a hand over his mouth to hold back another hiccup, he thumbed at Bumblebee.

"Well, Prime, Spike here got a nice little shock to the systems when he came back. He wasn't able to tell me what, though. I was here to make sure no one found out about his… uhh…"

"Embarrassing condition?"

The blush on Spike's cheeks turned a shade ruddier.

"Well, yes… considering how it sounds like an un-greased joint on an old mech, save Ironhide-" a hiccup escaped from Spike, "And we're trying to think of a cure," Another hiccup finished it off.

"Have you tried asking Prowl or Ratchet?"

"I couldn't," Bumblebee spoke on his friend's behalf, "If I left him alone and someone found Spike in his condition, the whole Ark would've known about this in a matter of astroclicks! I won't have anyone poking fun at my buddy."

"Thanks Bumble-" a hiccup came out of Spike, who had remained near his friend's large foot throughout the conversation.

"Bumblebee, I think he needs to seek medical attention. Send him over to the med bay…"

Prime stopped when he saw the little boy shake his head rapidly.

"Aww, c'mon Spike! No need to be afraid of the doctor. Ratchet can help ya!"

Spike shook his head once more and proceeded to say something – to have a cacophony of squeaks echo down the corridor, a continuous stream of noise coming from the boy. The human boy hugged himself as spasms went through his frame, leaning against Bumblebee's leg for support.

Thundering footsteps came down from the hallway and with it came the unmistakable voice of the CMO.

"… I'll have his hide strung on his exhaust port and his gears melted into slag! Ironhide, where are you?"

The medic looked up after his tirade, and his fiery lazuli optics gleamed at the sight of Optimus Prime.

"Prime, Ironhide's joints are at it again, I swear! Where is he-?"

A squeak came from Bumblebee's foot,

The medic paused mid-tirade. He eyed the foot, and looked at the mech at the optics.

"Bumblebee?"

"Nothing's wrong with my systems!"

The large medic continued his stare, "You certain about that?"

The yellow Minibot nodded, "It's Spike."

Optimus was certain that the medic did a double-take, but he did not show any sign of it.

"Spike, eh?"

Spike vehemently shook his head, taking a step back just as another squeak, a rather loud one, burst from his mouth.

Ratchet's chevron rose, "That sounds serious, Spike. You're sure ya don't need a check on that?"

Spike nodded, but just as he turned to retreat into the room, his face as red as heated metal, another hiccup erupted from him.

As Optimus feared, the medic's optics narrowed down on the human.

"I'm very sure you need a check-up right now. Come here."

The human boy did not.

Instead, he fled down the opposite side of the corridor.

"Why you little sorry-"

Ratchet launched right after the boy, just as the Lilliputian figure turned at the bend and his shadow vanished from sight.

"Hey! Ratchet! Leave him alone!"

Bumblebee took flight after the medic, and both mechs followed the human around the turn and away from sight, footsteps echoing away.

Optimus stared at the spot where he last saw his fellow Autobots's shadows against the orange walls of the corridor, and merely continued on his stroll, trying his best not to decipher any logic out of the situation that had just breezed him by.

**A/N: As you can see, I love writing about corridors. A lot of things happen in corridors.**


	9. Chapter 9: The Crossover

HT 9: The Crossover

"Avast ye, ya scurvydog!"

"I would think not!"

The occupants of the recreation room turned around in surprise when two highly unfamiliar figures made their way into the room without much warning.

One was a flash of brown, white and black from top to middle to bottom respectively, as it spurred on the spot and was followed by an almighty clash.

The other had something on its head, but it was the only thing the Autobots could identify on the being as it flashed around its partner and raised a slender object above its head before sending it down on the other.

Dodging right, the attacked darted and made its way deeper into the room, its assailant in tow.

It was the thing that a reclining and amused Jazz least expected on this rather dull day, and he decided upon himself to watch these two, for he had a hunch he knew who those two were.

As he watched, the one with headgear paused and turned around to face the other combatant. He realised that it was an orange bandana. Black hair that stuck out was braided with a myriad of coloured beads, each for a braid, and dark eyes peered out from under the hat, accompanied by (most obviously) a tiny fake moustache at the top of the lip and a dark 'drawn' goatee.

The other, the first one Jazz had observed, had a scruffy crop of hair, a shock of brown upon white skin and a billowing buttoned white shirt and black pants. Stern brown eyes stared at its opponent, which had found ground aboard Skyfire's foot (much to Skyfire's contempt).

Once more the clash resounded – as the clash of two wooden items hitting each other.

Ahh… Jazz knew who these two were. Leaning back, he whispered to his buddy, "Interesting swordplay for two wooden swords, eh?"

"If you considered it being two children at it, I would say that a parent should be warned immediately that their safety has been breached," Prowl answered back matter-of-factly.

"Wait!"

Wait, a third human?

The grin on Jazz's face grew.

A third figure hurried in, blonde mixing with white and black – which started to seem like the norm – and a solid object of brown obviously showing from the being's side. Eyes of hazel settled on the two combating beings and it lunged right into the fray.

So this was the mysterious Carly he had heard about. Jazz watched on, ever the good audience.

The new member lunged for one, "I got you now!"

"Not on your life, Mr Turner," the rejoinder came, accompanied with a flash and a clash.

Realizing it was no longer noticed, the one with dark eyes took its chance and ran – right under Jazz and took refuge under the table the higher ranks shared. That included Ratchet.

And the medic was not such a good audience as Prowl or Jazz.

"What the slag is going on?"

"You've got us," Sideswipe at the next table agreed.

Trailbreaker chuckled as he twirled his cube of energon, "Don't spoil the show. Let's see what happens next."

What happened next happened quickly enough. The two brawlers made their way backwards fighting – blonde staggering and taking each blow with his sword as brown dealt each with aim at the other.

Both spun to the side, avoiding the table and held a spar smack dead centre in the room. The Autobots watched as blow to left and right were traded, only to be blocked by the other. The two animated characters shifted and circled each other, only to have their blows connecting and never touching the other party.

Jazz watched on, with a snicker that he caught quickly enough to hide from Prowl.

In a sudden leap, the third missing fellow went right into the fray and his sword plunged in.

The three swords connected and crossed.

Three pairs of intense eyes looked up at each others', and glared.

The watching Autobots did not move, and did not cycle their intakes for a lengthy pause.

"Well, Mr Turner, Commodore," the one with the hat spoke suddenly, and caught Jazz unaware, "I suppose I best be leavin', and takin' me prize with me. The Pearl's be waitin', and time and tide wait for no man."

"But they wait for a pirate," the blonde spoke and promptly released its sword from the centre and pointed it straight at the man with a hat.

"Pardon me, Mr Turner, but I'm no pirate," he rolled his eyes at the last word, "I'm but a man who owns me a ship and gally-vants around with other men who love the sea. Savvy?"

"But you are, Jack Sparrow," the last member turned and pointed a sword at Hat, now with the moniker of Jack Sparrow.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," both Jack and the other replied in unison.

A giggle came from Sideswipe, but was hushed by his brother. The others nodded in approval.

"So as I know, Mr Turner and scum," the Commodore replied sarcastically, "Now, pirate, would you kindly hand me the prize and we'll call this improper fight to an end?"

"Ah, my good Commodore Norrington," Jack mused, a wide smile on his lips as he swayed a little to the right, and to the left has he continued, "ever the foul-mood knight from Port Royale. You know me so well."

"Cut to the chase and _surrender the prize_," Commodore Norrington's voice steeped into a dangerous and pointed tone, his sword aiming now for Jack's neck.

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that," the last one, Turner, now changed aim and pointed his sword at the Commodore, "I need it more than you do."

"Will, my boy, don't succumb to the same greed that taints the criminal at the end of my point," Norrington started.

"He's got a good point, mate, 'tis good advice from that man." That came from Sparrow.

"You keep quiet. Will, help me retrieve the heart off that man, and we'll share the rewards evenly. You for your Elizabeth, mine for my place at Port Royale."

For a minute, Will Turner looked absolutely stunned.

He took a step back, and his sword lowered.

"OKAY! That's it! Spike, you messed it up!"

That stunned the spellbound Autobots out of stupor. They sat back up in their seats, realizing how engrossed they were with what occurred on the floor.

It looked like the 'fight' came to an end.

Or so the others, save Jazz and Prowl, thought.

"Oh yeah? You didn't wear a cap or anything to cover your hair! Will's hair's brown, not sunny yellow!"

Sunstreaker did not respond.

"Orlando Bloom was Legolas, so there."

"That does not count! _Pirates of the Carribean _had a short-haired and brown-skinned Will, not a girl! I _told _you to be Elizabeth Swann!"

"But all she does in that scene was whine and groan and be a sissy!"

"Quarrelling makes the hearts grow fonder, me thinks."

At the doorway, much to Jazz and Prowl's realisation, was Mabel, or better known as Jack Sparrow, I mean, _Captain _Jack Sparrow.

A large tub of ice cream was cradled in the nook of her arm. In front of the two others, she did a little jig and pulled a full teaspoon of Cookies N Cream out of the tub and downed it with a ubiquitous grin of smug satisfaction.

"I got me jar of dirt, I got me jar of dirt," she sang in a taunt, waving the teaspoon at them as she turned and pranced down the corridor.

Spike turned to Carly, "Mr Turner, will you consider a temporary pact?"

"Certainly, Commodore."

With cries of bloody murder, the two charged out of the room, swords raised in terrifying show and after the runaway pirate.

**A/N: **I just _had _to do it. I just _had _to!


	10. Chapter 10: Hide and Seeker

**Chapter 10: Hide and Seeker**

Waving goodbye to Spike and Sparkplug, Mabel set on home from the Ark. The chauffer had a duty to do with her mother, so Mabel decided that a walk to the main road and a cab ride would have to do. No Autobot could lend his free time: A code red security alert was set up not long before her departure and the Autobots had to be stationed and on guard.

Striding confidently on the sandy ground, the Asian looked to the sunset, thinking about what could be done at the Ark tomorrow after school. There's running with the Dinobots and Spike on that maintenance test Ratchet and Wheeljack had to make. There was watching Prowl sort the myriad of data-pads that he received today. There was taking a drive with Hound and (amazingly) Huffer to look at clouds (That was Huffer's idea).

There was watching Optimus Prime on his rounds, running _after_ Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, chit-chatting with Ironhide or having a game with the Mini-bots –

"Let's rest here. It'll be a while before our _mighty_ leader _Megatron_ needs us back at base."

Megatron?

Optimus Prime had warned of those who spoke of that name in that manner.

One rascal of a Decepticon called Starscream.

And he sounded dangerously close.

She had stopped at the edge of a rather large boulder and was quite a distance away from the Ark and its safety.

Nervously, she peered around it.

There, in the light of the sunset and more than a stone's throw away, were three large metallic bodies with wings, with semicircular ornaments built upon their torsos and angular heads pointed thankfully away from her.

Seekers.

"I dunno, Starscream. He seemed hopping mad when we - "

_"That failure was none of my doing!"_

"Ya don't need to tell us that. Tell Megatron that."

The one who yelled, presumably Starscream, turned to the one who last spoke.

"Shut up, Skywarp."

"Whaddabout me?"

"_You_ too, Thundercracker!"

After the snide remark that certainly echoed across the desert, Mabel retreated back behind the boulder.

It was definitely not safe to walk for the taxi. It was not safe to walk back to the Ark either.

So, she would have to wait. The Seekers had to go back, so as the histrionic Starscream had mentioned.

But, how did it come to this?

The Ark sensors should have sensed and located those Seekers. There were quite close to the Autobot's fortress. Were they not scared of being possible captives of war?

Maybe it did.

The Autobots will come down soon, shoo the Seekers off and help escort Mabel to the main road and home.

Yeah, that should occur.

Now all she had to do was to sit and wait patiently – and hope that the Seekers would not find her.

"What was that?"

Mabel held her breath.

Uh oh.

Thundercracker spoke up in a tone of confusion, "What what?"

"I heard something, that way," the nasal voice of Starscream rose.

"Really? I heard nothing." That was Skywarp.

"I assure you, I heard something over there!"

"I don't know… you could be imagining things."

"If I kept imagining, I would've been dead long before we came here! There's something over there and I'm going to check it out."

"If you want to be Autobot prey, go right ahead. You know we're close to their base, right?"

"I set up a jamming field as we landed, TC, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Whatever, whatever."

The sound of shifting sand was heard, and silence followed.

Mabel felt her throat tighten.

Oh slag.

Maybe now it's a good time to move.

As quietly as she could, she slipped her school bag off her shoulder and let it rest in the shadow of the boulder. Thank goodness the sun was on the opposite side of the desert right now.

Picking herself up, she moved her foot, a step at a time, to the left side of the boulder and peered out for a shadow of a looming enemy that _should _be coming her way.

Any minute now.

The crunches grew louder, and louder still as she waited with baited breath.

'_Optimus, where are you?'_

The crunches kept coming, along with some cursing that was muffled by the grating sand.

'_Guys? Autobots?'_

The crunching ceased, leaving a still silence that seized Mabel with fear.

_'Anyone?'_

No shadow came before her. She waited and watched, but no silhouette of a tall figure showed itself on the ground before her.

What she _did _discover, however, was the shadow that towered over her and the cold hard object that prodded her back.

"Gotcha."

A scream ripped the silence.

* * *

"Figure she'll come back any time, Dad?"

Sparkplug laughed, and patted his son on the back.

"Son, you gotta understand girls at times. They are touchy creatures. Why, when Mabel discovered that she had screamed into Hound's audios during that drill, she must've felt so bad she may not come back for a week, maybe more.

But she'll be back soon – with some flowers for Hound. I'm sure of it."

* * *

**A/N:** One shouldn't rely on her OC too much. Hopefully this is the last of my OC for a good while. I'll try and focus on other human characters. 


	11. Chapter 11: The Chit Chat Companion

**The Fellow Chit Chat Companion**

"Hmm…"

"Ironhide?"

The red mech looked up from his table, to spot Sparkplug standing by his foot, looking small against a red block twice his size.

"You thinking about somethin'?"

Ironhide sat up from his slouched posture in his chair, looking up to the security video screens, but he was not consciously minding them.

"Yeah, I'm thinkin' about somethin'."

"Care to share?"

The human dragged his own chair up close, turned it around and crossed his arms over the back, head rested on top.

The red Autobot chuckled, and so did the human.

"Yeah, yeah, we old geezers always talk the ol' geezer nonsense."

"Fer someone who's fifteh tellin' 'is to a 'bot more than a mill'n years old…"

Sparkplug waved him off, "Whatever, whatever."

"Don't lick yer teen slang on me."

"How long have we been doin' this behind Optimus Prime's back? Four shifts?"

"Yer memory's short-circuited. Ab't eight shifts."

A low whistle escaped Sparkplug.

"Can't beat my record with my good ol' bud, Kup. Heh, wonder how he's farin' on Cybertron."

"You both date back many many years, huh?"

"Way b'fore any 'umans existed, fer sure," Ironhide chuckled, but a tinge of melancholy was still evident in his slang.

"So," the human adult cleared his throat, "what's bugging your cranium?"

"Hmm…"

Ironhide's optics shifted down to the human below him.

"You and Spike, that's what."

"Don't tell me. The thing about 'father and son' relationship and how we go about it, right?"

"Yep."

Sparkplug sighed, "You aren't the only one. Jazz asked me, so did Prowl, Ratchet, Bumblebee… Wheeljack one day when we were together, and even Optimus himself got a little bugged."

The human looked up to Ironhide, "I think one reason why you all don't quite get it, is because Spike's my flesh and blood, so to say.

You all 'create' another 'bot by parts and pieces of metal you purchase and put together, sometimes for others on order and demand. For me, it was taking care of Spike's mother when she was pregnant, all the way until his birth, and then looking after him from a baby to a child, and I'm still at that stage."

Ironhide leaned back in his chair, "'Nother thing I don't get. What's with this 'parenthood' stuff? I heard from Ratchet that human parents have this 'bond' with their kid, j'st by playing with them. You tie strings to each others' fingers while pickin' up teddy bears?"

Sparkplug laughed, forgiving Ironhide for the literal translation. He was, after all, coming from a land of wires and circuits.

"No no no, this 'bond' you're talking about is a sentimental bond. Untouchable, but there -" He paused for a bit.

"I think I told this to you a few nights ago."

"Refresh mah memory, will ye?"

"Now who's the forgetful one? You asked about how it's like being a father last Tuesday night."

"Ah…. So ah did…"

The red figure leaned forward on the console now.

"J'st… it keeps escapin' me all the time. I still don't quite get it."

"It's OK. No one else has, either."

"But what I do know, one way or an'ther, is that it's special. Yer're lucky to be a dad, eh?"

"Extremely lucky, Ironhide," the human sighed, scratching the short brown hair on his head, "Extremely lucky to see my boy grow up and learning stuff from all you guys. He's fourteen, ain't so young but ain't so old either."

"And ah'm sure you feel the funnies when yer son goes out with the others in a fight."

"That goes without saying. I trust my boy with all I've got to make sure he returns in one piece. Wish I could be there with him, but I'm stuck to the repair bay or Wheeljack's lab most of the time."

"He's no better than the twins, really. Yer oughta see Spike in battle mode! Picks up the gun and goes ballistic. We'd make a good warrior out of him."

Sparkplug frowned, "I don't want my son to be violent."

Ironhide nodded, "Ah, but yer only see that if no one's covering him – which rarely 'appens. Often Bumblebee and him'll scoot 'eir rounds 'round a few unsuspectin' Cons and when they turn 'round, we nail 'em. But Bumblebee watches over the kid as good as yer do. There's nothin' ter worry about."

"That's a relief to hear."

Silence lapsed in a brief moment, as both participants found little to say. The static and buzz from the security video feeds were all they heard for a while.

"Now yer got somethin' on yer mind."

Sparkplug looked up, "eh?"

"Yer're drumming your fingers again."

Sparkplug looked up, to notice that he was doing just that, rapping his fingertips against the chair.

"Yeah, something's on my mind."

"Care to share?"

Sparkplug smiled, but a wan smile, "Yeah… I'm just wondering if I'm a good Dad to Spike. I rarely see him until I'm done with the mechanic work and back in our quarters. He'd be asleep by then, so we don't have much time to talk or bonding time together."

"So… yer're worried the 'bond' ye 'ave with him won't last?"

"I hope it doesn't."

"Well then, ah'm sure one day we'll arrange ye both to have a little together time and -"

His optics lingered onto one screen, and he spotted something.

"Hey, ain't that Spike?"

The human looked up to the screen.

"Up past midnight?"

"He's making his way 'ere, I bet…"

Sure enough, the door slid open to reveal a dishelved and bleary-eyed Spike in baby-blue pajamas, one hand grabbing the door edge for support.

"What are you doing here, son?"

"I... I… came to join you, Dad."

"No, Spike. It's too late for you and you got a big day tomorrow."

"Nu-uh," Spike strode in, almost in a tipsy manner, and drew up a chair next to his father. He laid his chin on his father's shoulder, and gave him a glancing smile.

Sparkplug smiled back.

Ironhide snickered, "Lonely without yer pop, eh?"

There was no reply.

Spike had fallen asleep, his head against his father's shoulder and was snoring softly in reverie.

Sparkplug petted the boy's head affectionately.

"Goodnight, son."


	12. Chapter 12: The Bringer of Gifts

**Chapter 12: The Bringer of Gifts**

A/N: I decided that G1 Season 2 was still out of my league (for now), so I'm letting Mabel back in, but she has a minor role. Sorry for the long delay. This was all done in one sitting, and I think this will run through some editing when I get the time. But, I hope the emotion attracts more than the Engrish does. Hee.

And please forgive the sudden drop in standard/style/whatever. I wrote this during work, but I will do something about this.

**Disclaimer: Transformers isn't mine. It's Hasbro's and Takara's. Mabel's mine though, and not free for use.**

* * *

"Ssss… ow…"

"Watch it, Trailbreaker," Ironhide hissed from the adjacent recharge berth, "any louder an' Ratchet will skin yer hide."

Funny he should mention that, for it was his 'hide' that ached.

A horrific accident occurred when a group of Autobots left the Ark to face a Decepticon threat. It was the Insecticons, harvesting energy from an oil refinery. One of them had released its electrical charge as a getaway plan.

As everyone else could guess, that part of the refinery went kablooey.

The group of eight Autobots, namely Trailbreaker, Ironhide, Bumblebee, Gears, Windcharger, Jazz, Optimus Prime and Sunstreaker were grilled severely in the explosion.

Thank goodness for the human crew that evacuated, for some of them witnessed the harrowing inferno and accident and immediately dialed the Ark to send help for their comrades.

The rescue crew was very miffed to find their friends nearly melted to slag (and the most irate of all being the sole, poor medic), but repaired Optimus Prime to a functional mode that allowed more of the wounded to ride in his trailer. The group towed back their leader and friends to the Ark.

After Ratchet's care and concern was dished out and Wheeljack's reassuring sympathies that they should heal by tomorrow, the group of eight would have to spend the next twenty-four human hours in the medical ward, under the ever-observant eye of the CMO.

It was nearing the end of the evening, so as Trailbreaker's chronometer told him. He really didn't care about the clock; he worried a little more for his stinging wounds that were under auto-recovery. One of the buzzards, Bombshell he believed, nailed him on both arms and some slag had seeped into the wound. Add in the after-effects of a near melt-down and it was quite a something to handle.

But, as he turned to face Ironhide and attempted to look down the row of wounded, he could see, and guess, that the others fared as badly as he did.

There was nothing better to do than to bear with it in offline mode.

He rotated his head to face the ceiling, and powered his optics down.

There really was nothing better to do.

Wait… what was that?

His audios were picking up foreign sounds… by his berth-side?

He was not Jazz, but he could try to tune his hearing sensitivity up a few notches.

That, he did.

"Okay. Ready?"

"Mmhmm."

"One, two, three!"

The sound of soft groaning and grunting reached his audios, a fair bit louder than the whispering.

"Got it!"

Something clanked onto the side of his berth, and he was aware of something coming into contact with his hand – his burnt hand.

"Ow!"

"Trailbreaker!" Ironhide hissed, clearly annoyed.

His head turned to the distraction and powered on his optics.

A pretty little sight greeted him.

In the blue glow of his optics was a potted daffodil, tied with a yellow ribbon around the pot's rim and a tiny slip attached to the bow.

A blonde head was by the side of a berth bed, and a small outreached arm was leading straight to the flower.

"Carly?"

Trailbreaker's voice was a tad too loud.

"Carly?"

That was Ironhide.

"CARLY, GET OFF MY HAND!"

The lights from above blazed down, bringing a searing glow of light around the room.

With the coming of the light came shrieks of surprise, followed by the sounds of some things falling to the floor. Carly disappeared from Trailbreaker's view with a cry of her own.

Despite himself and the possibility of Ratchet being around, Trailbreaker pushed himself upright and peered down.

Sprawled on a makeshift landing of pillows were Carly, Spike and Mabel. The children had landed on their backs, and Spike was nursing a hurt hand.

Further away from the makeshift bed were a row of flowers, much like his little flower but were not potted.

There were sheepish grins on the children's faces.

Ratchet, however, scowled from the light switch.

"Get out!"

The children quickly reacted, ready to grab the flowers and leave, but Trailbreaker halted them.

"What's this about?"

"Out!"

"Ratchet," Optimus's calm voice came from somewhere down the row, "let them talk."

Everyone was seated up in their bunk now, far from an offline state. More than a few of them were sour about their interrupted and painful rest.

The CMO gave a leer at the leader, sour to the core, but he let his leader have his way.

Carly looked to Mabel in dumbfounded silence. Mabel looked back at Carly with equal silence.

Both finally looked to Spike.

"Well… err… err…"

"Err what?" Trailbreaker chuckled.

"Dad heard about the accident from Teletraan–One and told Carly, Mabel and me when we came back from school. Mabel and Carly ran out to get some flowers from the florist's, and we wrote get-well cards for you all.

Well… we kinda wanted to give them to you without disturbing you all… but…"

"We stacked each other up to reach the berths. Carly on top, Spike in the middle and me at the bottom," Mabel added, in efforts to appease, "but… if you guys mind…"

"It's a little too late to say that," Trailbreaker laughed, though Spike shrank, "but by the looks of these beauties, I'm sure we won't mind."

"Whaddya mean?" Jazz queried.

Oh yes, the others behind him could not see the little natural treasures the kids brought.

The black four-wheel-drive turned over and displayed his daffodil for the others to see.

The incredulous optics from his fellow men agreed with him.

"Well, ain't that a spark-tickler," Ironhide smiled.

"Hmm," Optimus nodded. He turned to Ratchet, "you won't mind helping the humans out with this small task, would you Ratchet?"

"If it gets them out faster, I won't," Ratchet stalked over to the children and bent down.

Soon, all the flowers had been distributed. Each Autobot received a different flower: A yellow rose for Ironhide (Mabel coined it the Yellow Rose of Texas), a sunflower for Sunstreaker (for the lack of a better idea), different carnations for each of the Mini-bots, a red rose for Optimus Prime (no blue roses, nor white ones), a pink one for Jazz (Carly chose it) and the aforementioned daffodil for Trailbreaker.

All was said and done, and Ratchet seemed to be through with it.

"All right, take your stuff and get out!"

"Bye guys!"

"Get well soon!"

"See you tomorrow!"

With that, the three kids grabbed their pillows and zipped out of the room. The door closed shut, and Ratchet dimmed the lights.


	13. Chapter 13: Entertainment 3

**So... I haven't been around for a while. My bad. Yes, real life. Yes, my bad. Let's get back to the swing of things.**

**Disclaimer: Transformers and its characters (C) HasTak. Mabel (C) me. **

**And I watched the Transformers movie - the recent 2007 one, yeah.**

**

* * *

****: Entertainment Thingymacallits #3**

"Ladies! Ladies!"

The two girls spun around, to see a familiar figure trotting up to their little table in front of Tele-traan 1.

The lanky Hispanic man was hard to miss.

Though, frankly, the two girls were still a bit too young to be called ladies.

Raoul, flanked to the right by Tracks in alt mode, carried a demure smile on his face.

"May I interest you in some afternoon entertainment?"

Carly and Mabel rolled their eyes.

"What's on your mind?"

"Oh… just a few tricks that will never fail to amaze, especially to lucky ladies like you."

Carly glanced over to her companion, then to Tracks.

"Please rein him in."

Tracks transformed, and sat down beside the girls with a laugh.

"Not tonight. This young lad wants to charm a few women at the bar, and all he had were a stack of card sheets."

"Nu-uh, it's magic cards."

From a pocket in his jacket, Raoul pulled out a deck of playing cards (with flair). The girls watched on.

"Now that I have your undivided attention," he cleared his throat, "Watch."

He took out a number of cards from the deck, and promptly arranged them down on the table in three columns, five cards a column.

"You two can pick a card. Any card."

"Ace of hearts?" Mabel asked aloud.

"No-uh, you're not supposed to tell me."

"There's no 'ace of hearts' on the table."

"He did say it was _any _card - ", and Carly got Mabel's hint.

"Don't be a spoilsport. I've picked a card."

"Now point to me which column has the card."

Carly pointed to the middle row.

Raoul took the cards back into hand, shuffled them dexterously, and replaced them on the table – but in a different manner than his first deal.

He repeated his instruction, and Carly pointed to the left row.

The cards were taken back, and this time he dealt them out into two rows.

"Now things will get a little tricky. Left, or right?"

Carly picked left, and Raoul handed her the cards on the left deck. The remaining cards were taken back, reshuffled and dealt.

Mabel picked right, and Raoul handed her the right deck.

This strange activity continued till there was only one card in Raoul's hand, the other card in Mabel's hand.

"OK, I have your card, and it's a six of hearts."

He flipped the card around, and it was a six of hearts.

Carly looked a bit stunned, but she nodded. It was indeed the card she had chosen.

Unconvinced, Mabel gave it a go, and her jack of spades was weeded out easily by Raoul.

All this while, Tracks was watching the proceedings with a bemused smile. How humans amused themselves with simple numerical equations was, without doubt, amusing to the Autobot too; but as a way to get attention – now that was a trick he could pull one day.

The girls were not very happy with 'being fooled at'. They tugged Tracks by his limbs.

"C'mon, Tracks! Prove him wrong!"

Tracks looked up at Raoul. Raoul looked back at him.

"All right, all right," Tracks smirked, "You, my friend, will get a tougher time with me for bullying women."

Raoul reacted with a mock shrug of indifference, and merely dealt the cards back.

Tracks announced that he had chosen not one but three cards – one for Carly, one for Mabel and one for himself. Raoul would have to guess the three cards in one round.

And Raoul took up the challenge.

Carly and Mabel agreed readily, and they whispered their choices into Track's audio plates.

"Ready?" Tracks challenged.

"Almost. We ought to place a bet in this, right ladies?"

Now happily involved, the girls agreed to the question. A bet was made: If Tracks fooled Raoul, Tracks was getting a waxing job from Raoul himself. If Raoul got it right, the girls will give Tracks that waxing. And Tracks was more than happy to agree with the arrangements.

Raoul launched straight into it. The cards were shuffled and dealt, and when Raoul asked his last query, he did look a bit puzzled.

Carly snickered, "I'll go ask Wheeljack for the buffer for you, Raoul."

Mabel chided her, "Not yet. Let's see if Tracks really gets it."

Raoul started separating the cards, but he changed tactics – he did them card by card. Each card laid face-down on the table, and he did the picking of the cards, passing each blackjack-style to the spectators.

Finally, three cards lay on the table face-down.

"Don't forget, my squishy friend. Identify the right card with the right person."

Raoul smirked, "I think I got it. Tracks chose the king of hearts. Mabel had the nine of spades. Carly chose the ace of hearts."

"But there's no ace of hearts in the deck!"

Ignoring Carly's exclamation, the man flipped the cards over.

To the girls' surprise, Raoul was right. Tracks had indeed chosen the king of hearts. Mabel had the nine of spades. Carly had initially spied a seven of diamonds, but the card was missing.

Everyone checked their decks – and even the untouched deck of remaining cards. They found the seven of diamonds in the untouched deck.

In its place, on the table face up and directed at Carly, was the ace of hearts.

_But_… but clearly, there was no ace of hearts with Raoul in the first place! This ultimately stumped the girls.

"Whoa…"

Raoul grinned.

"And that means I'm all set for the ladies at the bar. Let's go, bud."

As Tracks and Raoul headed out of the room, Raoul tapped at the little audio receiver in his ear, "Thanks for the gift."

"You're most welcome. And, if the girls ever did catch you for your trick - "

"It's pure mathematics and hiding a card up the sleeve, Tracks, I assure you! But, of course," he tapped the ear piece, "A little bit of help never hurt, eh?"

Tracks couldn't agree more – he was _still_ getting a waxing.

* * *

Meh heh. I'm back.

-MZ


	14. Chapter 14: The Observer

**So we're back. Yep. Anoher chapter, focused on what the Medics do. Just a normal chapter, nothing too fancy about it.**

**Disclaimer: Transformers is Hasbro's. Mabel's mine.**

* * *

Mabel sat on the berth, watching on silently. 

"THAT'S IT! OUT! OUT!"

Ratchet yelled. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker bolted out of the medic's land without a glance back, finally fixed and fine from an ordeal of a scuffle between themselves.

Not that she really minded.

She continued watching.

The aforementioned robot medic moved over to his workspace and cleaned his hands with sterilizer and rag in normal routine.

First Aid was cleaning up some tools nearby, his posture a bit slumped in weariness.

There were a few patients on the berth, and the two medics, more like medic and medic's assistant, were about to tend to them.

She continued watching.

She really didn't have much to do. Her chemistry homework was completed, her literature done, her essay completed, and the mathematics homework left for lost when First Aid had to attend to the sudden incoming of red, yellow and livid red-and-white. He left her where she was – on a bunk too high to get off on her own.

Ratchet moved over to Cliffjumper, who was wise enough to jump into the twins' skirmish. A banged-up leg, a bashed-in face and a near mangle of his fuel pump made him one of the in-house patients. He was still murmuring away in his offline state, something about a spanner, a gun, and a pair of petro-rabbits.

Ratchet tapped the injured leg.

Cliffjumper online-d and howled.

Prowl could not help and tried his best to ignore the sound, despite his grimace.

Mabel watched on.

Ratchet popped something onto the poor Minibot, and the warrior promptly shut down into a peaceful offline state.

With that, Ratchet tended to his work.

First Aid checked up the tactician, who was still in a grimace.

Prowl had taken Hound's advice and took a spin in the desert, intending for some peace from work, which rarely happened. Mabel supposed that it was under the Prime's order.

But things happened. One thing that happened was that Prowl found trouble when some sharp rocks and literally shredded his tyres and his underside. Another thing happened when he could not reach the base because of the energon leak he had that he offlined in the desert. Optimus Prime found the unfortunate fellow and transported him back in his trailer.

The affected areas have been treated, but the pain would reside for a while. He was given in-house orders and stayed.

And Prowl wanted to work.

The tactician attempted to reach for a pad, but First Aid handed it to him. Mabel knew that First Aid was, at least, the better half of the Medical Duo.

"Aid."

But Ratchet had higher authority.

The apprentice looked to his senior, and returned his gaze to Prowl.

"Sorry, sir. No work during rest."

That must have hurt Prowl something hard, but he showed no sign of it. He returned the data-pad to the assistant and merely closed his optics. His facial expression remained still and calm, but he must be terribly annoyed by now – and during the past two hours.

From afar, Mabel spied a sleeping Air Raid. The fighter was another casualty of the twins' scuffle. He, however, made it out lightly – with his external armor severely bruised and his wings in a mess. He was fixed, and resting.

Ratchet was still fixing Cliffjumper when the sedative wore out. Cliffjumper returned online and howled even louder.

Prowl moaned. Air Raid woke up, but Mabel could see that the air-vehicle robot was no longer concerned about the noise. He looked to Prowl.

"How are you faring?"

Prowl gave a sideways glance. Mabel couldn't see what expression he gave, but it apparently made the bored Air Raid grin.

"Just asking."

It was not common when the jet showed concern, but this was not concern. Air Raid just did this teasing for the fourth time to the poor tactician.

Mabel didn't really mind.

She continued watching.

"Ratchet!"

The door swung open, and in hurried Bluestreak. The gunner swung himself in by the edge of the entrance and said about his shortest sentence yet.

"Wheeljack's experiment blew up, & Perceptor's with him! Both down!"

Muttering to himself, Ratchet left the beds in a hurry with a quick order to First Aid to tend to the patients. He grabbed his toolbox and transformed into his ambulance. His wheels spun for traction and he shot down the hallway, the anxious Bluestreak tail-gating his senior.

A kind reminder was given to Air Raid to stop pestering the tactician and a dose of sedative was administered to the latter and the resident Minibot, Mabel noting the diligence of First Aid in his work.

The assistant seemed satisfied with the newfound peace, and moved up to the berth where Mabel sat.

Finally.

"Sorry about the wait. I shouldn't have left you there all this while."

"It's OK. You were busy."

First Aid helped Mabel off the berth, and she made her way out, her homework satchel slung over her shoulder.

"Oh yes, Aid," she spun around, "I think Ratchet needs a nice talk with Smokescreen after this. And a good shot of energon and rest."

First Aid chuckled, "So do we all. Have a good day, Mabel."

The girl waved and left the room, just as Ratchet hurried back with the casualties.


	15. Chapter 15: The Other Observer

Author's Note: Back after _one year!_ . I started college and never really thought of carrying on, due to the workload and stress-load. Then I came up with this. Hope it fits.

These characters don't belong to me AT ALL! Thanks Hasbro and Takara!

**The Other Observer**

Mirage found himself unusually alert when he returned from a lonely drive. There was something different about the Ark, as he stepped into the corridors.

There was a strange _smell_ around here. This smell was foreign, and he couldn't calculate what he was sensing.

But he knew one thing – it smelt of earthly origin. Much of the senses he accumulated of earth were… earthly. There was little else to say about them.

Not that he was concerned.

As he headed towards the energon dispenser, the smell grew more intense than it was at the doorstep. As they got stronger, he found something even more… interesting about the scent.

There were… many scents. Many individual scents in one. He couldn't quite place what they were, but that, he discovered. It smelled pretty offensive to him too, but that only stirred his interest of _what_ could be so repulsive.

He drew closer to the room, and now there was sound – a sizzling sound.

Then there was talk – human voices.

"Pass me the sugar."

"Sugar?"

"Yeah, sugar."

"But sugar in pasta sauce?"

Mirage peeked into the pantry, and found the source of the smell and sounds.

Carly and Spike were by the 'humans' area, huddled over what were, according to humans' terms, a pot and a stove. Carly held a wooden object and kept glancing into the pot, while Spike seemed to be the audience of whatever Carly was doing. Beside Spike was a square table and a separate flat surface on top of it. It had the remains of some different-colored items broken apart, a few empty cans and a small knife.

But, no, Mirage knew what they were doing. The humans were cooking – at least Carly seemed to be preparing food to make it more palatable to the humans. When he first learned of this term, he found this activity… queer. Energon was always instantly consumed by themselves, and the only kind of preparation that would happen would be refining it into different grades of quality.

Humans heat their food up in containers of metal put over a source of strong heat – pots and pans, if he wasn't wrong. Maybe he was. They would prepare the raw foods in different ways, then combine all of them together in specific steps, with specific measurements and priorities. If anything went wrong, the humans' senses – visual, olfactory, and taste – would immediately realize this and reject it. It has become a passion for some humans to pursue perfection in this field, preparing the foods and methods of adding heat to make something more than palatable.

All this, he knew from Perceptor. The scientist interviewed Chip Chase about it when the human brought something called 'lasagna' to the lab and got Perceptor's olfactory senses working a storm with the new scent. Perceptor did not know how to perceive this at the least, and Chip remarked to Mirage himself how funny the whole situation was, Perceptor panicking over lasagna.

And here was his own, being worked up by a foreign scent.

"I'm sure there's no sugar in pasta sauce!"

"Only a little bit, Spike. See? It's there in the recipe!"

Carly flung the book out at Spike, her finger jabbed at a certain part of the text.

"OK, fine! Just a pinch, right?"

Mirage, ever the quiet-stepping spy, sneaked in and stood by the energon dispenser, just watching. The dispenser would make a sound while filling the ration cup, so it'd have to wait for a while.

This was really interesting.


End file.
